


Close through the Dark

by Darwin_xf



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Domestic Fox Mulder/Dana Scully, Established Relationship, F/M, Season/Series 07, season of secret sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 16:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14453136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darwin_xf/pseuds/Darwin_xf
Summary: A long time ago in a galaxy much like our own but with no smartphones, Mulder and Scully explore the vicissitudes of family, the metaphysics of sex, the intersection of desire and power, the merits of Skinner, the confines and conventions of gender, the inadequacy of language, a deep dark secret or two, and—most importantly—each other. Basically, nothing happens.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This entire work is rated Mature for frank discussion of adult sexuality. Chapter 2 is Explicit and can be skipped without losing the thread of the story.
> 
> This takes place in the second half of season 7.
> 
> Cheers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever happens with us, your body  
> will haunt mine—  
> —whatever happens, this is.
> 
> The Floating Poem, Unnumbered  
> (An excerpt). by Adrienne Rich

“That was it.” Mulder said, some minutes after they had collapsed to the bed.

They lay side by side in the near dark of his bedroom, his fingers laced behind his neck, his eyes idly following the shifting shadows on the ceiling. She was sprawled on her stomach, close but not touching him, her face half buried in a pillow. She emitted an occasional satiated murmur.

“That was what?” she asked, lazily.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had. Red hot monkey sex, Scully. That was some primitive bootknocking.”

Her laugh settled into a smirk, her eyes still closed.

“Was it ok when I…”

“More than ok.” In fact, their encounter had been playing behind her eyelids as she drifted next to him. She stole toward him and kissed the underside of his jaw, then rested her head on the landing strip of his chest.

“Good,” he said, circling his arms around her and giving her a squeeze. “I would normally, uh, ask first...”

“That’s not bad as a general rule,” she said. “But I think I set the tone, Mulder. For this particular soirée.”

“I picked up on that,” he said, smiling at her.

“I’m not really sure what came over me...”

He shrugged, complaining the furthest thing from his mind. Also, never good for Scully to overthink. In bed, anyway.

His window was open a sliver, allowing the city’s dusky late summer hum to wash over them. Bars coughed patrons back up to the sidewalks as happy hour timed out, more carefree and certainly louder. All over the city clusters of burst blossoms weighed down limbs. A night bird trilled nearby and light from a million bulbs worked its way around the edges of his blinds which swayed and rattled in the breeze. A car alarm blared fruitlessly several blocks away.

“Why do the best words for sex all originate from the French?” he asked, leaning down to kiss her mouth. “Tonight’s...skirmish, you might be interested to know, took over the top spot from the rendezvous we had last Thursday.”

“You have a list? Have you been making reports on me from the beginning, Mulder? Taking your little notes?”

“That water isn’t from the faucet, is it Scully?” he asked, gesturing to the half-empty glass they’d been sharing.

“Jug in the fridge.”

“Good. Nothing for the record. It’s all up here,” he said, tapping his temple.

She lifted her head and looked at him. “What did we…?” A slow smile spread across her face. “Oh yeah. Thursday was nice.”

“Last Thursday beat out our power lunch from three Mondays ago, if you must know, which, at this point, is taking the bronze. Nipped it at the wire,” Mulder said.

She looked at him quizzically. Their physical intimacy had been progressing nicely. Which, if pressed, she might admit was an understatement.

But she didn’t remember each session discretely, start to finish like he seemed to. Their sex returned to her in hazy images and snippets of hushed conversation, recalled sensations de-centering her at odd moments--striding through the cafeteria loaded down with two oranges and a paper cup of sencha tea, waiting perched on sofa’s edge in Skinner’s outer office, masked and gloved over a fresh corpse in some backwater autopsy bay. Her skin would flush, and she’d draw a deep breath to refocus on the task at hand.

“Lunch is a contemporary English word. Nineteenth Century, I think. Luncheon. Power is Latin in origin maybe? But I’m pretty sure it comes to us via Anglo-Norman French as the verb poeir-to be able to. Why aren’t German words sexy, Scully?”

“I can never decide whether your capacity for remembering literally everything except my birthday is more a curse or a blessing,” she said, dragging her fingers through his shorn hair. “You’re so minky,” she muttered, nipped at his pec.

“Me neither,” he said. “But when it comes to this,” he said, wagging his index finger between them, “It’s all good.”

“Hmmmm,” she agreed.

“I’ll work on the birthday thing.”

She snorted. “I won’t hold my breath.”

“We celebrated this year.”

“You invited me to dinner after you overheard Skinner wish me a Happy Birthday.”

“You noticed that? How does Skinner remember your birthday? Why does he? He never mentions my birthday.”

“I’ve never taken a swing at him.”

“You’ve held a gun on him though. And accused him of treason.”

“I guess he’s the forgiving type.”

“Good thing, or he would have canned me ages ago.”

“That's true.”

“There was that one time. Just before we left for Wisconsin? We sang in the bar?”

“Three years ago? I was dying of cancer, Mulder. Even Bill Junior sent a card.”

“Scully, I…”

“It was nice all the same. You don’t often have occasion to see sparklers in February. I never got to eat my Snowball, though.”

Scully peeled herself away and stood at the end of the bed, pressing her arms skyward with hands clasped in a deep stretch, dark in her hollows, not a stitch on. His eyes went soft, taking her in, as his tongue toyed with the sore spot on his freshly split lip.

“There’s a dirty joke there somewhere, but I’m too distracted to think of it.”

 

————————————————-

 

They had pulled on some clothes and were at his dining table eating toast and lentil soup.

“Is this from a can?” Scully said, pointing toward her bowl with her spoon. “It’s good. It tastes like my mom’s.”

“It is your mom’s” he said. “She gave me a quart of it from her freezer at Thanksgiving. She insisted.”

“She probably thinks you’re too skinny. And generally a helpless bachelor.”

“I’ll take what I can get. Besides, I like her. I’ve never met a Scully woman I didn’t like.”

“Remember Aunt Maura, my dad’s spinster sister? She’s kind of a drag.”

“With the lavender hair?”

“That’s her. Mom only invites her out of obligation.”

“She seemed like kind of a sourpuss,” Mulder agreed.

“Who spends all of Thanksgiving dinner with people you might see twice a year complaining about noisy children and the lack of amenities on their recent cruise?”

“I kept wanting to ask her about her hair. But I thought it might be rude.”

“You have good manners, Mulder. But, you've never spent time with my mom as my lover.”

“True. You weren’t putting out in November.”

“Not that you know of.”

“Touché, Scully,” he sad. “But you weren’t, right?”

She just shook her head. He went back to his soup.

“Wait. If memory serves, we engaged in some pretty hot premarital intercourse on my sofa not a half hour before meeting your mother for brunch. This was, like, months ago.”

“We did more than that. There was very little room for the Holy Spirit, as I recall. But she didn’t know that. And what, Monster Boy, do you mean by premarital?”

“You know what I mean. Does she know now? That we’re... going steady?”

“Hints have been dropped. Also, we played some serious footsie at brunch. Not to mention I brought you to brunch. She’s not an idiot.”

“Huh. You know what I think, Scully? I think your mother knew what we were to each other long before we did.”

“Maybe she did.”

“I’m not sure how...”

“Well, I’ve heard stories that you can get…a little...intense when I’m incapacitated.”

“You know how the rumor mill is.”

She laughed. Down in the street, someone yelled “Debbie, don’t do this to me!” the plaintive wail echoing up through the corridors of buildings.

“Maybe we should close the windows,” she said.

“It doesn’t bother me. For once I’m about to curl up with my favorite warm body and someone else is acting like a lunatic and going home alone.”

“It’s nice up here,” she said.

“I couldn’t believe your mom gave me your cross to hold, when you were gone. I was afraid I’d lose it. I wore it for a while.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well I don’t have a jewelry box.”

She smirked at him.

He looked down and smiled, still shy around her from time to time. “I’m just glad I got the chance to give it back.”

“I still have that football video you gave me that day. Somewhere. Maybe I’ll even watch it one day.”

“I was very suave, wasn’t I? Also, a jackass.”

“To me, you were adorable, all sleepy eyed and meek, drowning in some green grandpa windbreaker. You’ve filled out since then,” she said, running her eyes over his bare chest and arms.

“I was so relieved. And petrified. I wanted to scoop you up and snatch you away to my lair forever. Or else turn on my heel and spare you ever seeing me again. I fought those dueling impulses for years, where you were concerned. I was more like the monster from Beowulf than boyfriend material. Grendel.”

“Who wrote Beowulf?” she asked. I had to read that in AP Lit.”

“Anonymous. The same person who wrote Go Ask Alice, a cautionary tale to warn prim young women of the perils of the fast life.”

“Prolific,” Scully said. “And such range. Too bad the name is lost to history.”

“I’ve always wanted to name a dog Grendel.”

“Not a fish?”

He stood up and made his way toward his fish tank. They flashed and scrummed near the surface as he approached—barefoot and boxered, her favorite look—and darted after the flakes as he tapped them into the tank.

“Grendel was hairy and bipedal. Mammalian. Omnivorous and moody. He lived with his mother. All wrong for a fish.”

It occurred to her that Mulder wanted to honor this Medieval mythical monster like a long dead but fondly remembered great uncle, the story of Grendel more plausible to him than Jonah and the Whale to most Christians.

“I’m glad you didn’t succumb to any of those impulses,” she said. “And I’m glad we seem to have found some middle ground.”

“I didn't even have a way to talk to myself about any of it then, no less you,” he said, picking up their bowls. “You want more soup?”

“No thanks. We got there eventually.” Scully said, yawning. “It’s true, my mom’s always been a fan of yours. It’s a little surprising.”

“I’ve never been a bring him home to Mom kind of guy, I guess.”

“It isn’t that. She's more open than she used to be. She’s a different person, without Ahab. I think losing him, as devastating as it was, freed her up in a way. She’s always my mother, but we’re mutating. Something like a friendship is in the works.”

“I’ve gathered your dad had an imposing presence.”

“Mostly in a good way. But yeah.”

“Nobody’s mother ever liked me before. What can I do to screw it up? Shag Aunt Maura?” he asked from the kitchen.

“That would do it. Or you could start cross-dressing.”

“Another sound idea.”

“I wonder what my mother would do if you were to swing by next Thanksgiving sporting something festive from my closet…” she tittered.

“Scully, are you trying to find a way to tell me about some kink of yours?”

“Nah. The thought of your knobby knees popping out under a hemline doesn’t do it for me. I’m just meandering.”

“Even if it changed Margaret's opinion of me, your brother’d probably like me better dressed like a girl. So it would be a wash.”

“He couldn’t like you less. Does it bother you? Oh, my.”

He stood behind her chair loosening her shoulders. Her head dropped to her chest.

“Not unless it bothers you. I don’t begrudge him his protective streak.”

“If we’re still...doing this,” she said, tipping her head back and smiling up at him, “I plan to invite you to a family function or two. I have no problem telling him to cut the crap.”

“Honestly, the most irritating thing about your brother is how he doesn’t seem to know you at all. I want to ask him, have you even met Scully?”

“That question would certainly confuse him. Maybe I’ve changed. Maybe he never really knew me. I think I know him, but maybe I don’t. I’m sure if he drilled down under his stubborn grudge against you, he’d have no idea what to make of you. Adult sibling relationships are weird.”

He grew quiet, working her trapezii with his sensitive hands for another minute, then sitting back down at the table next to her.

“Samantha?” she asked.

He nodded. “I wonder if we’d be friends. That’s an odd thought.”

“I think you would’ve been. That happens too.”

“I guess I’ll never know.” He sighed.

She put her hand over his and squeezed. They sat like that for a minute in the quiet.

“Why have I never met your other brother?” Mulder asked.

“Charlie? He lives in LA. He writes code and plays bass, not necessarily in that order. He’s smarter than the other three of us put together.”

“I doubt that.”

“Really. He started college at sixteen. Dropped out at eighteen and moved to Seattle.”

“Go west young man,” Mulder said.

“I think it was less about Manifest Destiny and more about black tar heroin.”

“Oh. How bad is his drug problem?"

"I don’t even know. I think it’s more his side hustle at this point. He hasn’t said three words to me since I joined the Bureau. I don’t think my work aligns very well with his values.”

“What he knows of your work.”

“Right. He was closer with Melissa. More like-minded.”

“That left you paired with Junior?”

“Right? He’s got a good heart, though. Bill always shows up, for me and for Mom. I appreciate that.”

He nodded.

“Oh God,” she said.

“What?”

“I just had an eerie thought.”

“My favorite kind.”

“If my brother Charlie had stayed in DC, he could be the fourth Gunman.”

 

————————————————-

 

“Let me ask you something,” Scully said, picking up the dress shirt she’d taken off him earlier and pulling it on, the tails dangling above her knees as she fastened the buttons. She didn’t keep pajamas at Mulder’s, though he'd recently cleared out a drawer for her, and hadn’t gone home after work.

“Why, if my shirts are so much larger than yours, do they make the buttons so much smaller?”

“That’s not my question,” Scully said. “Why are a lot of men so concerned with superlatives? With hierarchy? With who or what is number one?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time with men. Two brothers plus my dad, medical school, the Academy, law enforcement in general.” She popped the collar of his shirt, pressed her nose to the fabric and snuffed. He’d done the same with her undies once, when she was in the shower.

“Um-hmm.”

“Why is it always the about ranking? Who’s the best pure hitter in the history of baseball? Mantle, Carew, Babe Ruth?” She sat on the edge of the bed and extended her arms so he could roll the cuffs.

“Scully, I’m impressed. Since when do you speak sport?”

“I don’t give it a lot of thought, Mulder, but I pay attention. My brothers had that argument fifty times if they had it once. Each batter was unique and extraordinary, I presume? Among the best of his era?”

“It’s ‘hitter,’ Scully, and none of them has a thing on you.”

“That’s flattering. I know how you feel about Mickey Mantle. In med school, it was stuff like which discovery has been most crucial to the advancement of modern medicine. DNA, penicillin, vaccines: all hugely important, but incomparable in any meaningful way. Why bother? What is it with this overweening desire to figure out who’s number one?”

“Ween is the operative word, I’m afraid.”

“Is it that simple?” she asked, wandering toward the windows. I mean, Mulder, you have a profoundly penetrating, subtle, unique intellect.” She peered through two slats in the blinds, surveying the street below. “You mean to tell me that your penis--which is also very nice by the way--”

“Not to mention penetrating. Especially of late.” He was sitting up against his headboard, tracking her with his eyes like that picture in Dorian Gray.

“How does it work? Insecurity about your masculinity goads you into these insipid contests?”

He shrugged. She folded herself into the room’s lone chair.

“Sometimes I’m glad I don’t have one of those things,” she said.

“So am I. Who says we don’t have anything in common?”

“I never did.”

“Scully, around when did you start fantasizing about being penetrated by my intellect? I’ve always wondered. Also, I don’t believe that I engage in this type of swordplay all that often.”

“With the Gunmen? You try to act cool when I’m around, then they start parsing and compiling, hooting and sparring—Doctor Who, condiments, superfund sites, quantum computing—and they draw you in. Not every time, but still.

“It’s how we dudes lock horns. It’s how we connect. What can I say, Scully? It gets boring to me too. That’s one reason I’ve preferred to work closely with women.”

“One reason,” she said, snickering, standing up again.

“Are you going somewhere? If not, you’re overdressed.”

“Just to the kitchen for more water,” she said, snagging the glass from the nightstand.

“Because I was hoping you’d stay over.”

“I’d been planning on it. Tomorrow’s Saturday Mulder, and I don’t care if Sasquatch himself breaches the perimeter of the White House. I’m not going to the office.”

“Noted,” he called out. “We can have the Secret Service detain him ‘till Monday.”

He could hear her clanging around in the kitchen. “You’ll have to clear out by noon, though, because I’m expecting my other lady friend to drop by.”

“Oh? Does Chantal make house calls? Marty?”

“Snoopy Squirrel.”

“I don’t snoop. I do sometimes play your messages to try to divine your whereabouts when you ditch me and I’m kind enough to feed your fish,” she said, reentering the room.

“That’s how they’re still alive. I thought they just had, like, really slow metabolisms.”

“You know what else I don’t understand? Why would a guy blessed with a first name ideal for phone sex manufacture such a boring pseudonym? I’ve been wanting to ask you that for years.” She slipped into the bed next to him.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t like to pry,” she said, rolling on top of him.

“I’ve always appreciated that about you, actually. I know you’ve been trying to duck this question with your little rationalizations, Scully, but what’s the best sex you ever had?” He ran his hands under the edge of his shirt and gripped her ass, gratified to discover she hadn’t put her underwear back on.

“Mulder, I don’t think…”

“It’s ok if it’s not with me. I’ll take it as a challenge.”

“That’s the last thing I need. I can barely walk as it is.” She felt his laugh rumble through his chest, imagined the alveoli of his lungs jostling beneath her ear.

“I’ve got a few battle scars myself,” he said, rubbing a welt on his shoulder. “You could always just lie back and think of England, Scully. Once in a while at least. Or, you know, develop the occasional headache.” He kissed her. “It takes two to tango.”


	2. Explicit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This section of the story is explicit. Really. While the sex is consensual, it could be a trigger for some. Proceed with caution.
> 
> If you go on to Chapter 3 w/o reading this, the story still works.

It was true. Not an hour before, to mark the end of a long week, they’d been making some slow love in his bed. Some unambitious, sweet, missionary love. He was combing his fingers through her hair and pressing it back from her forehead with his palm, planting kisses across her face then blowing air across her damp cheeks. She dragged the pads of her fingers up and down his torso, teased the nape of his neck with her perfect, pointy nails. All this while their hips stayed locked in place, her pelvis cradling him as he washed in and out of her in an easy cadence.

Then, pricked by some primal urge, she broke eye contact. She shoved at his chest because she wanted to look down to where their bodies collided. With more room to maneuver, her hips began playing a contrapuntal rhythm to his, circling and rubbing against him.

After a few minutes of this she escalated, grabbing his wrists sharply and drawing his distracting hands away from her face. He seemed startled but amenable, resting all his weight on his elbows and knees, girding his body in plank position. She climbed him like a jungle gym, arms slung around his neck, feet scaling his back while they remained joined. She engaged her strong thigh and back muscles to draw herself up and scraped and rolled her hips against him furiously, seeking the right angle of congress, mashed her clit bruisingly against his pubic bone again and again. He watched her foxily, wary but game, from the corners of his eyes.

She needed more, increased her tempo, taking him deeper. She would moan as she hit the illusive spot she was seeking, only to lose contact and cry out in frustration. Then she was pulling his hair and biting his collarbone, denting him with her teeth, scratching his flanks and back, marking his olive skin with raised red stripes. He remained fixed in position above her, wincing, but letting her exhaust herself against him.

The exertion was quickly becoming unsustainable, but she was so needy, her chest heaving as she fucked him. When her arms finally burned out, she let her shoulders fall to the mattress in the sheltered space beneath him, but kept her ankles locked at his waist.

“Scully,” he said, trying to get her attention. “Come on, Honey. Let it go.”

“Fuck you,” she said, and jammed the heel of her hand against his jaw. His head snapped back. By the time he refocused on her, his teeth gleamed with blood and genuine antagonism sparked in his eyes. She didn’t seem to notice, continuing her torturous grind. She was nearly inverted and red faced under him, her muscles shaking with fatigue and rage. She no longer knew what she’d been looking for, was well past any sense of pleasure, but couldn’t stop seeking. With the last of her strength she pushed herself up, up, up, engulfing him over and over.

Just when she couldn’t bear it anymore, he peeled her legs from his waist and shook her off. She dropped to the bed with a groan.

Beneath him now she was was utterly depleted, inert, her head splayed to the side exposing the vulnerable blue of her neck. High above her he was taking what he needed, pumping into her mercilessly, further abrading the tender skin at her opening. Just as she swiveled her neck to look up at him, he jammed two fingers in her mouth. She seized his wrist, but he was stronger. He shoved them deeper until she relented and sucked.

“Hey Scully,” he said after a few minutes of this. “I love fucking your wet little pussy.”

She shot him a warning look, but nursed his fingers more desperately.

“You’ve been keeping this pussy nice and tight for me, haven’t you Scully?” he taunted. “You’ve been saving it for me.”

She spit out his fingers, pinned him with a dead-eye stare. “Shut up, Mulder.”

He stopped cold inside her, gazed at her nonchalantly while holding his body stock-still. Only his trembling gave him away.

Her eyes were irate now, hot on his face.

“Haven’t you, Scully? Been saving yourself for me?” He cupped her chin harshly with his wet fingers, wagged it side to side.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He resumed pounding into her.

“I know I’ve been making you wet for years, Scully. Years. You thought you were hiding it, but I knew.”

“Yes,” she said, looking away.

“I could smell it on you. I know you went home and rubbed yourself, fucked yourself, thinking of me. Isn’t that right, Scully?” His voice was close through the dark, and deep.

“Yes,” she said again. “I did, Mulder. You know I did. Just don’t stop.”

“I thought so.”

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She shifted her hips and hinged open, broken, surrendering to him completely.

“That’s it, spread your legs for me,” he said, reaching down and giving one of her nipples a firm pinch. “I’m dicking you so deep because you’re such a good girl, Scully. How you waited for me.”

She moaned and he picked up the pace, slapping his hips against her as she clawed at his ass.

He wound his rangy arm beneath her. His index finger, still slicked with her spit, toyed with her anus, flicking at the sensitive pucker, then circling the rim as she—despite herself—opened to him.

“Ohhhhhh,” she said throwing her head back as he slipped his finger inside her and pressed, increasing his own pleasure as he fucked her. A long shaky moan escaped his throat as he moved in her.

She had never been done like this, never, with his finger working deep in her ass. She grabbed the backs of her knees and rocked, wanting more delicious friction, grunting and moaning as her body smoked and smoldered, long past caring how she looked to him.

Then he brushed his thumb idly over her clit, an afterthought, and her whole pelvis ignited in pleasure, flashover claiming the rest of her body in wave after wave and oh, she knew then what it was to be gone and everywhere at once, a dandelion bud exploded to seed, the fuzzy filaments blown up and away, set askirl by the wind.

And yet she was here, completely and perfectly here in the gloam of his bedroom, being nailed to the mattress by him at last, though he wouldn’t meet her eye. She knew from his hitched breathing he was close, craved his mouth hard on hers when he let go into her.

Suddenly, though, he was gone, leaving her astonished and bereft.

She opened her mouth to protest--ready to tell him anything, to admit it all--but then he was everywhere, looming above her, straddling her waist with his knees, his fist working his cock above her tits. She arched up with her elbows behind her until her nipples brushed his coiled sac. She stared gapingly, transfixed. His hand was flying over the head of his cock, his neck bowed, his face taut with what could have been pain. He grunted, grabbed her hair in his fist, and jerked her head toward him. She was shocked when the first hot spurt of his cum splashed on her chin, but relaxed as the remaining strands broke clean and iridescent over her cheeks, her half-lidded eyes, her lips.

Instead of releasing her hair, he thrust his hips forward and was rubbing the velvety tip of his cock against her, so purple in the dim and he was smearing his cum around her face. His eyes were huge and nearly black. Her mouth was still open, and she kept trying to capture his fat head, but he teased her with it, playing keepaway, bumping over each eyelid, brushing her forehead, tracing her jaw.

At last he centered himself and palmed her skull with both hands and he was enormous, filling her to her throat when he thrusted, once, twice, the third time cutting off her breath before he pulled out. He held himself loosely at the base and slapped his dick against her cheeks as he started to soften.

Finally he was here, plastering himself to her as they each clutched wildly at the other. He was kissing her deeply, lapping at her with his tongue while running his hands reverently over her body, claiming her everywhere. Soon he retrieved his t-shirt from the foot of the bed and gingerly cleaned her face, all the while spilling what had once been his secrets into her ear.


	3. Chapter 3

“So,” Mulder said. “Last Thursday, three Mondays ago, tonight? The rendezvous, power lunch, and skirmish, respectively. Amazing sex, all of them.”

“I concur.”

“But not the best sex you ever had?”

“Mulder!” She said rolling off of him, lying on her back. “I can’t compare. I won’t. Each situation is unique.”

“Well, the basic principles are the same. The anatomy.”

“You sure?” she asked. Also, she slammed him with the eyebrow.

“Huh,” Mulder said, perching on an elbow above her and considering her thoughtfully. “You had a girlfriend.”

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Junior year of college.”

“Secret Squirrel,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

She said nothing, pulled the edges of his shirt together at her sternum.

“What was that like?”

She eyed him suspiciously. Telling her boyfriends about her former girlfriend didn’t usually go well. Before long they’d be pressing her for salacious details. Then, weeks later after a second beer at whatever bar, they’d be pointing out women and asking her opinion. As if she didn’t know where they were hoping that was leading. As if.

It seemed, however, that Mulder was merely curious.

“It was nice.”

“Was it different than your relationships with men?”

“In some ways, but not others.”

He was quiet, waiting for her to continue if she wished to.

“Her name was Camille. I desired her, had fun with her, enjoyed talking with her and studying with her and and all the things people do. The sex was fun...and interesting. I learned a lot about my own responses. She was sexy and so smart. And funny.”

“How was it different?” he asked softly.

“She was out, and uncompromising about it. She had survived Leukemia as a child and she was very strong. She didn’t care at all what people thought of her.”

Mulder was nodding.

“I...I was about to say I’ve never met anyone else quite like that, but I realized I have.”

“Who?”

“Present company excepted, I’ve never met anyone else quite like that.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I’m your type, Scully?”

“I, however, cared what people thought of me. And after five or six months it became sort of an issue for us. How inhibited I was.”

“Inhibited?”

Mulder was asking the right questions. Or at least not asking the wrong ones. She’d glassed the titles of his ridiculous video collection a time or two. It was in the realm of the possible, in fact, that she’d one time, after feeding his equally ridiculous fish, popped one of his videos in his VCR and gotten herself off on his sofa, half-hoping half-fearing he’d return from whatever far-flung place he’d stolen off to and catch her in the act.

In any case, his sensitivity on the topic came as a pleasant surprise.

“Not sexually, but socially. I wasn’t comfortable. I was all over her in my dorm room, but didn’t want to hold hands on campus. I loved her, but I didn’t particularly want to think about what that made me.”

“Bisexual?”

“I am, I suppose, though I haven’t yet fallen for another woman. You know I’ve never been a bumper sticker and t-shirt type of person. I don’t know. Maybe I just lacked courage.”

“Did you tell your parents?”

“No. But they found out anyway.”

“How?” He reached under the covers and rested his hand on her middle back.

“That feels good,” she said. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”

“I’m sore already. You beastwoman.”

“I love you,” she said.

“I know.” He moved toward her and gathered her up, sliding his big hands up and down her stiffening spine.

“How’s your lip?” she said, grimacing, peeling it away from his gums to examine it.

“Good thing I’m dating a doctor,” he said, shaking his head ruefully. “I’ll live.”

She kissed him gently where it was raw, sighed. “I’d told a friend from high school. She told her mom, who happened to be a friend of my mom. And her mom called mine and told her. Just so she’d know it was ‘out there’.”

“What a busybody.”

“That’s generous.”

“How’d they take it?”

“Not good. The next time my dad was home--it was Easter as luck would have it--they confronted me. My mother cried and cried. I just wish you’d told me. Like she wouldn’t have sobbed for two days if I had. They thought--they really believed, and I had let them believe--that I’d been saving myself for marriage. It was quite a shock to the family system.”

“I can imagine,” he said.

“My dad didn’t say much. He looked at me every so often with bewildered disappointment. Basically he assumed I’d been seduced by some snaggletoothed dykeasaurus.”

“Had you? Been seduced, I mean?”

“No. We met in the lab. I pursued her, actually. It was strange. Friendships with women were...awkward for me. I think because I moved so much as a kid. I had a few gay friends, but didn’t particularly identify with them. I had always been attracted to boys, so my feelings for her took me by surprise. It was apolitical. Perhaps ill-advised. But definitely borne of pure attraction.”

“And that bothered her?”

“Not at all. But the fact that I seemed ashamed of the relationship did.”

“Were you?”

“More or less. The irony was, my girlfriend had dumped me the week before the drama with my parents. She told me she was sick of falling for straight girls. I couldn’t even blame her.”

“Ouch. You know that heartwarming Christmas story ‘The Gift of the Magi,’ Scully? This is like the companion piece, ‘The Cosmic Bitchslap of the Easter Bunny’.”

“Bill Jr. accused me of trying to get attention.”

“Douche,” he muttered.

“Especially galling because anyone with ears knew he screwed his college girlfriend in his boyhood bed every time he brought his laundry home for my mother to do.”

“The ole double standard.”

“For Missy, it was the only interesting thing I’d ever done. She wanted me to quit college and move to some lesbo-feminist commune in Arizona. Charlie was still in high school. He hardly left his room.”

“What’d you do?”

“I went back to school as soon as I possibly could. Buried myself in my studies. Spent that summer volunteering at an AIDS clinic in Haiti. Didn’t go on another date until I started med school.”

“Aww, Scully,” he said, drawing her near and kissing the fused bones of her skull. “I love you, too,” he whispered into her hair.

“My parents never mentioned it again and I certainly didn’t bring it up. I also didn’t bring a boyfriend home for at least six years. Not until I got serious with Ethan.”

“Over at chez Mulder, we did things a little differently. One day my sophomore year, I get home from basketball practice. My mom is like ‘Fox, I went shopping. I left some things on your dresser for you.’”

“I’m getting a bad feeling,” Scully said.

“Yup. A tube of Colgate, some shampoo, tube socks, Old Spice deodorant, dental floss, and a twelve pack of condoms. Lubricated mint, of all things.”

“Wow. No talk?”

“Nada. Teena could be loquacious, especially regarding gardening and antiques. But awkward or painful topics? She was a vault.”

“Your dad?”

“Wasn’t around much by then.”

“Oh, Mulder.”

“The worst part was, I hadn’t even done it yet!”

“Well, that is the ideal time. It doesn’t do much good to roll them on after.”

“That stupid box of condoms sat in my bedside table mocking my virginity for over a year. It’s bad when even your mom thinks you should be doin’ it. The smell of mint always brings it all back.”

“Well, you’re doin’ it now. These days.”

“I like these days.”

“Mulder, you know the Easter Bunny is pretend, right?”

“So say you. Why’d you call me Monster Boy, Scully? Are you trying to insinuate you didn’t enjoy being married to me? Or should I call you Laura?

“Not if you want to get laid anytime soon. Rob.”

“Well I do. I could go right now, to tell you the truth.” He burrowed beneath the covers and began rubbing his stubbly chin against the softest part of her belly. She laced her fingers in his hair, scratched behind his ears.

“Mulder, that case had me wondering. Have you ever met any married couples?”

“Hmmmm?” he said, lifting the blankets and peering up at her. “For obvious reasons we won’t count my parents,” he said.

“Let’s not. Married people, especially people married more than two weeks, don’t call each other pet names every chance they get. And they don’t play smoochie smoochie grab ass all that often, either. Especially in public.”

“Smoochie smoochie grab ass? I don’t remember grabbing your ass, Scully. Well, I do, and fondly. But not on that case.” He ducked under the covers again.

“My point is…” he was kissing his way down her torso and she was working hard to remember her point. “My point is, if those poor people hadn’t been so freaked out by the murders and their CC&R’s, ahhhh, you could have easily blown our cover with all that crap. Mulder?”

He reappeared.

“So you’re interrupting my important work here to tell me I don’t know how to be married? Why didn’t you mention this at the time, if you were so worried about our cover?”

“That’s a fair question. I’m not sure I know, actually.”

“You’re right, I don’t know how to act married. I’ve never been married. I was nervous. Uncomfortable. The whole time. Well not when it was just me and you, but when we were Rob and Laura.”

“The Arcadians made you nervous?”

“I don’t think so. I think it was you. As you must be aware, I was harboring feelings for you. I didn’t think you quite returned them. I had to make our fake marriage a caricature or it would have seemed too real. I think I was worried my, ah, desire for you would disrupt our partnership.”

“Hmmm,” she said.

“Also, it was a little cheap. I liked having my hands on you, however preposterously. Why are we talking about this? That case wrapped ages ago.”

“I don’t even know. Can we go back to the part where you were about to go down on me?”

“I don’t know, Scully. You must have brought it up for a reason.”

“You brought it up!”

“I am a moron then. I brought it up, but not as, like, a topic.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

They both rolled onto their stomachs, away from the other. The distant car alarm, which had stopped alarming, was at it again.

“I was nervous too,” she said after a few long beats. “As you now know, I had complicated feelings for you as well.”

“I’m glad we finally cleared that up,” he said, leaning over and kissing her.

“You know Scully, I didn’t mean to bring up marriage lightly earlier. But I want you to know that as serious as I’ve always been about my work, I am quite serious about you and me as well.”

“I know. I am too.”

“Good. I want to make room for this.”

“What do you imagine that looking like?”

“I don’t know. I just know what I want. And it’s more of this. If work has to move over a little, so be it. I’ve been a one trick pony long enough.”

“I could get on board with more of this.”

“Do you think, if we ever were to get married, they’d let me take your first name? I’ve suffered enough.”

“It’s a free country. But if I took your last name, we’d both be Dana Mulder. Might get confusing.”

“There’s the rub. I guess I’m forever Fox. But should we keep our last names or make up a new one?”

“Hmmm. I like Sculder better than Mully. They’re both pretty bad though.”

“I guess Spooky’s out?”

“Yeah, that’s old hat.”

“We can hyphenate. Merry Christmas from the Mulder-Scullys. That’d be hell on the kids.”

A look of pain washed over face, so quickly he almost missed it.

“I’m sorry Scully. I’m not trying to be glib.”

“I know. I just wish that was possible.”

“Look,” he said, holding her head between his hands. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself here. But I need you to believe that if we want kids, we’ll have them. We will find a way. Couples do it all the time. We’ve solved thornier problems than that.”

She nodded. He brought her into an embrace.

“I like your name,” she said. “And I liked your hands on me. I think that’s why I didn’t object,” she said.

For weeks after she thought about how, in Gogolak’s living room, his fingers hung down from his arm, slung casually over her shoulder, and kept brushing against her left breast. His voice was false and smarmy, and she knew she should have elbowed him in the ribs. But the occasional contact between her nipple and his fat knuckles, so plausibly incidental, was driving her mad.

“As pathetic as it was, I used our cover to cop some feels. I was a desperate man, Scully. You were so soft, and yet so perky under those silly sweater sets. I knew I should cut it out, but I couldn’t.” He scooted down and lathed his tongue over her breast.

“God, I wanted you in that bed. That case was torture. And not just on account of the outfits.”

Mulder smiled at her. It felt like the sun on her face.

“The tuna casserole was pretty bad too. Being allowed only sixteen pounds of dog is a travesty, Scully. Not to speak ill of the departed.”

“I hope that’s sincere, Mulder.”

“I’m sorry about Queequeg. I’m not sure I said that properly at the time.”

“Thank you, Mulder. He kind of smelled, but I liked that little guy.”

“I wonder if my fish would count toward the sixteen pounds of pet limit. And would it be their weight in water, or on a scale?”

“We had a twenty pound cat when I was a kid. Would they have made us get her some liposuction?”

“We haven’t even mentioned the indiscriminately homicidal trash monster.”

“That was the least of our problems.”

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, peeling back the comforter and running his eyes up and down her body, contemplating where to touch her next, and with what. “Next time we go undercover as a married couple, I’ll keep my hands to myself in public and like a normal married man. When we’re behind closed doors, though, I’ll fuck you silly.”

“Not too silly to work the case. That would...ugh, Jesus Mulder...be unprofessional.”

 

 

                            ———————————————————————- 

 

Windows closed, teeth brushed, and in bed for the night, they lay side by side again, her toes brushing against the fine hairs on his calves, his hands in her hair, her chin tucked against his ribs.

“So,” Mulder said, “With the girlfriend? Camille? Was that the best sex?

“Mulder!”

“Kidding, Scully! Just kidding. I think I get it. It’s about context. And feelings and all that jazz.”

“Yes. For example, the sex we had earlier tonight.”

“I vaguely recall,” he said.

“I couldn’t have…let go like that with anyone else.”

He laughed darkly. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days.”

“Anyway. If another guy had tried those moves some time in my past, I would have been freaked out.”

“Why did it work between us, do you think?”

“Well, I’m more experienced. I have a deeper and more nuanced understanding of sexuality, my own included.”

“You’re in full possession of your considerable powers.”

“Well put. As are you.”

“So it frees us up to mess around,” he said, kissing the crown of her head. His hand found the bright orobus on her low back. It felt warm and alive against the very tips of his fingers.

“Exactly. But it’s also about the depth of the trust and respect between us.”

“Not to mention the attraction,” he said, wagging his eyebrows.

“That never hurts. Neither does how sweet and attentive you typically are.”

“In bed.”

“Yes. At work those qualities aren’t always on display. Not that I’d want them to be. I mean, you could be a little more considerate...”

“I get what you’re saying. This is all new for me too, Scully.”

“You're saying you never skirmished before?”

“Not really. Or power lunched or rendezvoued. Everything’s different with you.”

“Mulder?” Scully said abruptly. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“About the girlfriend? I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Your friend’s mom called me.”

She poked his gut. “Ex-friend.”

“For one thing, you’ve been trying to tell me all night, dropping little hints like breadcrumbs.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, the cross dressing comment, among others. Your ambivalence about your mom liking me. Maybe even your...feistiness when we made love earlier. Unconsciously you’ve been sending the message.”

“Mulder, that’s too tidy for me. And reeks of confirmation bias. I’m sorry, but I view Freudian Psychology as soft science.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Why would my unconscious mind be so eager to share that aspect of my past on this night, above all others?”

“I don’t know. Speaking for myself, after seven years of Monster Mashing with you, three months doing this, after the skirmish, not to mention the sweet little round of make-up sex we just had, I feel closer to you at this moment than I ever thought I would to another person.”

“Me too,” she whispered.

“Maybe it just felt like the right time to fill me in.”

“You said for one thing. Are there others?”

“I’ve long suspected you harbored just a sliver of same-sex intrigue.”

“How? Why?”

“I profiled you.”

“Come on.”

“I did.”

She saw he wasn’t joking. “Spill it, Spooky.”

“When I was with VCU, Reggie and I developed a system where we could figure out who a cop was attracted to.”

“It only works on law enforcement?”

“Yeah. It started as a joke, when Reggie noticed this guy we worked with was always ogling blonde women with yuuuuuge tits.”

She frowned.

“I’ve never gone in for yuuuuuge myself,” he said, feeling her up in the dark. “I’m more into, like, god Scully, perfect,” He weighed her breasts in his hands and buried his face in her neck.

“Unhand me, Mulder, and tell me how you profiled me.”

“Sure thing,” he said, holding up ten fingers and returning to his pillow. “When cops enter a room—especially an unfamiliar room—we case it, right?”

“Yeah,” Scully said warily.

“You eyeball everyone, at least briefly, looking for a threat. Reggie and I figured out that when cops don’t find a threat, their eyes will immediately return to the person in the room they find most attractive. The look might not linger, but if you watch someone carefully over time, you start to pick up patterns.”

“Bosh.” she said.

“No, it works. We tested the theory.”

“Describe the methodology to me. Did this study have a control group? Was it set up as a double blind?”

“Come on, Scully. Break away from the nerd herd. I’d just ask someone on the team once in a while in a bar or airport lounge who’s the best looking person in here. And I knew who they were going to point out, like eighty-five percent of the time. It holds up.”

“All right Mulder. I’m afraid to ask, but what do you think you learned about me, using this…technique?”

“As in all areas, you’re a complex and fascinating woman,” he said, leaning back. “You’re very liberal, small c catholic. Conventional good looks aren’t all that important to you.”

“Well, that’s conveniently vague.”

“I’m thinking your girlfriend was between five-six and five-eight. Strong jaw, straight dark hair, probably cut short but not too severe. Athletic build. Tailored, expensive clothes. Double major. Maybe a tattoo or two. Kind of a soft butch look.”

She stared at him. “You’re off base.”

“Well, profiling isn’t an exact science. And this method is designed to determine physical attraction, which is only one aspect of a relationship.”

“She had wavy hair. And she was five-nine.”

He nodded.

“All right, Mulder. What kind of men do I like?”

“The strong jaw is crucial, across the board.”

She rasped her hand along his stubble. He kissed her palm.

“If a man is your age or older he has to have, like, laugh lines around his eyes. Intense, intelligent eyes. He’s confident. A little squishy around the middle is ok. Not too macho or musclebound. Any texture or color hair is ok, but bald doesn’t work for you. Too bad for Skinner.”

She was staring at him as though he were a creature.

“Any ethnicity. You sometimes like men who are much older than you. You’re unusually broad-minded, Scully. How am I doing so far?”

“Continue,” she said demurely.

“Once in a while you notice a younger man, but he has to be quite a bit younger. And he has to have the jaw of course and be skinny. Long torso. Informal dress. I’ve actually been wondering, based on my observations, if you might maybe sometime want to play Cabana Boy, Scully? If you think I can pull it off.”

She gazed at him, nonplussed.

“What do you say?”

“Maybe tomorrow night, Mulder,” she said putting her head down. “I’m sleepy.”

He kissed her soundly, curled his body around hers.

“You really are spooky. No offense.” Desire is terrifyingly specific. She remembered once reading that somewhere.

“And you really are beautiful. And I’m very glad you’re in my bed.”

“I might be getting used to this, Mulder. Maybe it’s time you had the talk with Chantal.”

“Good night Scully,” he said.

“Good night,” she said. “Sebastian.”

“Just wait till tomorrow. Sebastian’s gonna be at your beck and call. But then he’s likely to flip you, Scully, like a buffalo nickel in zero gravity. You’ll be on your back before you know what hit you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Indeed we will.”

She laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“I just can’t imagine having this conversation with anyone else. I’m glad I’m done working out my dull, repressive family drama. You’re a worthy adversary, Mulder, as well as my friend. Also, hot in the sack.”

“I’m sorry about how your family reacted to your girlfriend. I wish they could have been more supportive.”

“It was painful. But in retrospect I’m glad it happened.”

“Why?”

“Prior to that, my father’s opinion mattered too much to me. The idea that he could be wrong had never occurred to me. He was disappointed in me. But I was also disappointed in him, and I needed to go through that.”

“Yeah.”

“My parents were conservative Catholics. I didn’t expect a rainbow flag reception. There was a reason I didn’t tell them. But the fact that he couldn’t even credit me with the appropriate agency really pissed me off.”

“Knowing you a little bit, I can imagine.”

“I realized that if I was going to be happy I’d have to work out my own definition. It prepared me to weather his disapproval when I joined the FBI. It grew me up.”

“Are you? Happy?”

“Heavy question, Mulder.”

“You don’t have to answer it.”

“I will say that I wouldn’t do much differently, if given the chance. I’m very happy to be here with you right now.”

“Is there anything you’d change?”

“Just my sister. I wish I could change that. As different as we were, she was a courageous and loyal person. Intelligent in her way. In her way, more so than me. I miss her.”

“I know,” he said.

He held her for long minutes as they shifted toward sleep, the melancholy palpable and all too familiar; but joy was there too, however fleeting it might prove to be, rising giddily like helium through heavy room air.

He was glad, despite his habit of recrimination, he could join her in her lightness as well as in grief. Glad that she’d grown him up that much.


End file.
